MultiFaceted
by FrozenPurity
Summary: She finds herself fading in the darkness as his lips are on her throat and she's sighing but all she is thinking is whereisthemusic? And she can't quite seem to get it back.


She loved him, she supposed. But which one did she mean by 'him'? They were both gentle, in their ways, although they both attempted to hide it from her, she managed to pull it from them with her long fingers. She knew what the piano meant to him. The piano was sadness to him, and anger to the other. But which one did she mean by 'him'? They both killed people. Though for one of them it was his job, and for the other it was simply a hobby, a curiosity in the name of science. But she knows, she _knows _that whatever she felt for him, it can't be _true _love. True love was fairy tale stuff, things that you dreamt of as a girl and never spoke of again once the first had possessed you. There was not true love, for love was governed by lust and greed. That it was she believed anyway. So when she had been introduced to him, she had never expected to feel that rush, that heat that carried everything with it. Perhaps even the heat of love. But, then again, which one did she mean by 'him'? She always smiled at both of them and attempted to treat them the same, but when he looked at her like that, she felt that rush and knew there was just him, only him. But again, that same, deafening, question, which one did she mean by 'him'? She finds herself, at a fine ball, in a fine mansion, with the piano playing and she still can't seem to find out whether this is sadness or anger that she feels when listening to it. She felt herself glisten under the lights, her dress clung a little as she turned and she couldn't help but think _looklooklook _at me, aren't I beautiful enough for you? As she glances over to see who it is playing the piano, her breath hitches as she sees that young man, and she hopes he doesn't see her looking. She frowns, or did she smile? And she sees the music struggling to keep itself in line but it continues flawlessly and she wonders how he's doing it, how he's managed to look at her with those eyes that dig into her soul and frown and smile and still be so perfect all at the same time.

_"The pianist, the _boy _is looking at us again Lu."_

She wonders how he manages himself in this fine, beautiful, lonely mansion. She's sure he must always be twitching to kill something just to _shoot something! _And she wonders if he is really as calm as he seems. She wonders if the stillness she sees within his eyes as he plays his piano to her in her break times, is true peace, or if it is the calm before the storm. And she wonders if he plays his music to relinquish his anger, or whether it is sadness that he releases through those fingers that have destroyed so much yet now create so much more. So when she is with him she feels guilt towards the other, as though he has some sort of right to her that she has gone and stolen from him. When she is upstairs and they are both within her heart but there is only one within her bed, she asks herself, which one did she mean by 'him'?

_"I'm aware of that, and I told you not to call me Lu again. You know what it means to me."_

She finds herself crying at times. Her head falls, like she can no longer keep it up with all the emotions swirling around inside it, it falls into her hands and she cries. She swallows to try to hide the sounds of her sorrow and perhaps it works. She hears no one come to comfort her, but she wishes that someone had come, that it had been him. She wanted to feel his heart against her chest and the whispers of sweet-nothings against her ear. She needed him so that she could feel safe again. But that same, unrelenting, terrifying question still haunts her, which one did she mean by 'him'?

_"No need to get snappy with me. I was just hoping that you would finally get rid of him before he gets out of hand. You see the way he glares at me?"_

She approaches the young man where he is sat at the piano, but the scientist intercepts her, and it's strange, as he steps between her and the piano the music seems to stop flowing to her ears, everything is cold and silent within her head. She feels empty, but she is still unsure of which she feels as she loses the music and finds the science. Is it sadness? Or anger that she finds? All she knows is that the music fills her with something and the science takes it away and replaces it with something cold. Cold and sterile like the laboratory where she finds herself fading to in the darkness as his lips are on her throat and she's sighing but all she is thinking is _whereisthemusic? _And she can't quite seem to get it back.

_"I know, I've seen it. But I don't feel like I should be rid of Valentine. He...he is a good man."_

His bed is cold like science and as she lays beside the scientist she wonders if the musicians' bed is warm like music, she wonders if his heart beats to a melody that only he can hear, she wonders if he dreams in diminuendos and legatos, because she is sick of hearing the beating heart of a scientist, which beats to the sound of needles and scalpels, the man who dreams in staccatos and crescendos which never lead anywhere. She longs for that music, but all the while she knows that she cannot betray him. She is always with, yet always apart from him. If she becomes too close, she is afraid of what will become of the other, although now she realises that she loves him. She loves him. But which one did she mean by 'him'?

_"You know in your heart that you will always choose science Lu. You will always choose science and me, music is not as fine an art as science. And Lu, you are most certainly an artist."_

She finds it ironic that she couldn't ever tell him her feelings. She finds it almost _hysterical_ that she had never realised what emotion he held within him. When she sees them both, the music dying on the floor of that fine, beautiful, devastatingly lonely mansion, and the science stood, triumphant with the gun that should always have been in the hands of the young man. When she sees them, she suddenly knows. She knows what feelings they hold within them. She knows by her own screaming emotions that she feels anger, _deep excruciating anger _as she stares in horror at the horror in the lab coat, and then she feels_ sososososomuch _as she looks at _him. _Her _love_ bleeding, _dying_ on the floor of that fine, lonely, beautiful mansion. But she knows that it is sadness that possesses her. She can't help but find it ironic when he visits her in her crystal prison, that she cannot voice her feelings. Whenever she tries to say _"I love you...It was always you..." _it becomes _"I'm...I'm so sorry..." _And she feels that that will do. At least he knows that. She almost smiles at how she had almost known him. Almost knew the love she never had. But at least she does know one thing.

_She finally knows_ w_hich one she meant by 'him'._


End file.
